The Game
by TheChicaChic
Summary: Harry stares at her a moment, taking in the red hue of her cheeks and the slight labor to her breathing. Than with a smile, he pushes his chair back and circles the table, his hand gripping the back of her chair as he leans over. "Have dinner with me tonight and I'll explain everything."


**_AN: So I was going through my little black book of Harry and Ruth ideas, thoughts, and notes today and came across this little bit that was originally supposed to be what '12 Months' was based on until it ran away into unbelievable stalker land. After some discussions on 3 Words, 8 Letters over on FB I've decided to try and take this a light, fluffy and humorous path - here's hoping it works._**

**_Just a bit of an intro written between interviews, crisis and travel times. Leave a review and the next bit'll be faster in publishing. And the next bit of 'Sail Away' will be up this week-end - it's being edited as we speak._**

* * *

"I'm coming." Harry mumbles, walking barefoot from the kitchen. It's early on a Saturday morning, the first Saturday he's had off in God knows how long, and he's been enjoying the time drinking his morning tea and reading the papers in the back garden.

As he reaches the door, he looks through the security peep, a frown pulling at his lips at the familiar chestnut hair. Undoing the chain and locks, he opens the door.

"Ruth?"

Turning from the street, she smiles briefly at him. "What is your position on elected officials dictating policy within the various security services?"

"What?" he asks, confusion filling his voice as he stares at her.

The wind blows strands of her hair into her face and she pauses for a minute to tuck them behind her ear.

"What are your personal and professional feelings on politicians involvement in the Security Services?"

Looking at his watch, the frown returns as he lifts his eyes to hers.

"It's 7.30 on a Saturday morning."

"And as Director General you could be called at all times on any given day - answer the question."

With a resigned sigh, he steps back into the hall, gesturing with his hand for her to enter.

"Come in."

Stepping into hall, Ruth slowly undid the light coat she was wearing, sliding it off her shoulders to reveal an aqua jumper. Gripping it in a hand, she lifts her eyes to his and tries to smile as she takes in the old jeans hugging his hips and legs under the gray Oxford t-shirt.

It's the first time she's ever seen him in something other than his Savile Row suits and she's hard pressed on which he looks better in; the bespoken wool or the worn denim. A slight cough has her lifting her eyes to his, a blush tingeing her cheeks.

"Sorry." Handing her coat to him, she looks around the entry, watching as he hangs her coat over the banister before walking to the kitchen.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

Settling on the edge of a chair, she watched him.

"Tea if you've any."

Nodding, Harry opens a cupboard and pulls a cup free. Setting it on the counter, he pours some tea into it before adding two sugars. Carrying it to the table, he settles across from her, watching as she sips it quietly. Leaning back in the chair, he settles his hands on the table, legs stretching out as he gets comfortable.

Sipping her tea, she looks around the room, taking in the Spartan finishings before training her eyes on his.

"So, how do you feel about politicians making operational decisions within the services?"

"It is my belief that the decision of all operational measures should be left to those with the most experience."

Pausing a moment, Harry reaches for his own cup of tea and takes a sip before asking his own question.

"Red or white?"

"What?"

"Which do you prefer, red or white?"

Taking another sip of tea, Harry just watches her, waiting for her answer.

"White. But what does my preference of wine have to with your interview?"

"Nothing, but if you're asking me probing questions, it's only fair I get to ask you some."

Eyebrow lifting, she looks at him in confusion. "But you asked me to."

"I did." He takes another sip of tea.

"So I'm just doing what you asked."

"You are."

"So why are you asking questions about me?"

"Think of it as," he pauses as he takes another sip of tea, his lips pulling in a smirk, "quid pro quo."

"I'm doing _you_ a favor."

"Hmmm, yes. And now I'm changing the rules."

Looking from her tea to him to her tea again, she runs through the past few days of conversation in her mind, trying to find any mention of rules. But there hadn't been any. None that she can remember.

"What rules? We never set any rules."

Eyes sparkling, he leans forward, hands steeping as he grins. "Which is how I'm changing them now."

Setting her cup on the table, she shifts, leaning her elbows upon the wood. "You can't change rules that didn't exist."

"Says who?"

"Says the rules of logic. You cannot prove a negative."

Leaning forward, Harry lets his finger tap against his upper lips as he watches her.

"What?" she asks, seeing the light in his eyes.

"Your theory," he begins, lowering his hands, "has just proven your point for me."

Confusion fills her eyes as she stares at him, a frown settling on her lips. "How?"

"If your theory was true, it would be unprovable in itself."

She pausing, running this through her mind, realizing he is in fact correct.

"Still, you can't add rules to rules that don't already exist."

"And I say I can, in fact, add rules to a set of unspoken rules that exist between two friends."

She's frustrated as she lifts her hands from the cup and leans forward on the table. "Are you trying to confuse me?"

"No." he answers with a cross between a smile and a smirk. "I'm trying to explain the rules of our little game to you."

"And I'm trying to explain to you that we don't have what you're calling a game."

"We do - and you started it."

"What?" she's confused again as she stares at him.

"Did you or did you not stand in my office two days ago and have a conversation with me about my pacing?"

She's thrown at how a slip of tongue on her part can lead to rules of some imaginary game between them being changed. "I'm sorry?"

"And I quote 'Hypothetically Harry, you wouldn't forget about us, would you? When you're pacing the thickly carpeted floor of your new office.' to which I stated 'I didn't know I paced Ruth.' and your answer was 'only in a good way.'"

Ruth stares at him wide eyed for a moment before turning beet red and looking at the table, her pointer finger tracing along the grain.

"What - nothing to say?"

"I...I wasn't trying to start a game."

"Oh I know that." He's leaning back again, his eyes fixed intently on her profile. "But you did shift the balances of our relationship."

Her eyes snap up from the table at this and seek his. "What balances and what relationship?"

"I think," he pauses as he meets her gaze, eyes burrowing into hers, "you know what I'm talking about."

"I don't."

"You do."

"I don't."

"Ruth you watch me pace."

"Yes well...you watch me at the bus stop!"

He's thrown by that for a moment but recovers quickly. "Because I wanted to ask if you'd like a ride."

"It was pouring - why didn't you?"

"I was worried about the balances!"

"What balances?!" she asks, the conversation agitating her.

"The delicate balance of my being your boss."

"You said balances. That's a balance."

Harry stares at her a moment, taking in the red hue of her cheeks and the slight labor to her breathing. Than with a smile, he pushes his chair back and circles the table, his hand gripping the back of her chair as he leans over.

"Have dinner with me tonight and I'll explain everything."

* * *

_**To be continued ...**_


End file.
